


for love (is a clash of lightnings)

by HereComeDatBoi



Series: close your eyes, fall in love (and stay) [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Adam (Voltron), Altean Hunk (Voltron), Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Pidge | Katie Holt, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Flirting, Dancing, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Galra Shiro (Voltron), Happy Ending, I've done it, Keith and Adam are engaged, Lance Adam and Allura are siblings, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Not much tho, Shiro's a dork, Teenage Drama, Weddings, all the drama, court intrigue, featuring:, it's here everyone, some suave flirting, the galtean adashi you've been waiting for, they both want out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereComeDatBoi/pseuds/HereComeDatBoi
Summary: There were just two rules that came with being the illegitimate son of a Queen, and so far Shiro was doing a pretty good job of not breaking them.Firstly, he could never so much as hint at his true parentage unless he was in the company of people who already knew about it. This was fairly simple most of the time; most of the staff at the palace had been working there since before he was born, and the soldiers just didn’t care.And secondly, he was sworn to protect his younger brother Keith (his treasure, the center of hisuniverse) with his life, if the need arose.Falling in love with Keith's fiancé complicates things a little. But hey, he's trying.





	1. Chapter 1

There were just two rules that came with being the illegitimate son of a Queen, and so far Shiro was doing a pretty good job of not breaking them.

Firstly, he could never so much as _hint_ at his true parentage unless he was in the company of people who already knew about it. This was fairly simple most of the time; most of the staff at the palace had been working there since before he was born, and the soldiers just didn’t care. It helped that he didn’t look very much like his mother, Shiro knew―Queen Krolia was a highland Galra, tall and slender and hairless like the nearby Alteans, and Shiro’s dead father had been an Easterner, with heavy fur around his shoulders and clawless human hands. Shiro took after him and the human great-grandfather neither he nor his mother had met, and though visitors to the Castle often wondered at how tenderly the queen loved her low-born _ward_ they never connected the two by appearance.

And secondly, he was sworn to protect his younger brother Keith with his life if the need arose.

Two very easy rules to keep, Shiro thought. Keith was the center of his universe.

*    *    *

Takashi Shirogane―the first of the name, not Shiro himself―had been a wide-eyed foot soldier serving in the infantry, the part-human son of a farmer and a royal tailor. He was one of the Princess’s playmates growing up, and when they were eighteen their years of friendship flowered into a love affair, brought on by the fear of an interstellar war stirring outside their quadrant. Eventually the soldiers of Daibazaal were called into battle, and the young officer Shirogane died during a siege and left behind a lover and a son not yet born, then known only to Krolia and her livid father and mother.

The king (who was practical enough about the issue, after his wife calmed him down) sent his daughter away to an outpost in the north, attended by a pair of trusted physicians and a household of faithful servants. It was there that Krolia spent the next year and gave birth to her child, whom she then brought back to Castle Qhevrad as her ward. The little boy grew up running wild around the palace, begging his grandfather’s commanders to play soldiers with him and napping in his mother’s arms during council sessions: a prince in standing if not in name, loved by all and considered a future successor despite his illegitimacy―until Krolia married a kindly human ambassador and had Shiro’s brother, Keith.

“You’ll have to disinherit Takashi,” he heard his grandmother whispering one night, not long after Keith was born. “Now that you have a child by Jacob, it just isn’t proper to pass the crown to your ward. See sense, sweetheart. No one knows a thing about his father, and that’s a difficult burden to bear for a king. No origins, no relatives to speak for him.”

“No one knows a thing about his mother, either,” said Krolia sharply. “I could’ve come out and said he was mine whenever I liked, if Father hadn’t twisted my arm about it. I didn’t even want to go into seclusion to have him, Mother. I was going to claim him as my own son from the first.”

“It’s a good thing you didn't,” countered the Queen. “Jacob’s planet would never have agreed to settle the trade deal with a marriage otherwise, not if they knew you already had an heir of your own. If they hear that you’ve passed over their ambassador’s child for one of no royal blood―”

“Takashi’s father is neither here nor there,” her daughter snapped. “The deal’s been settled, and Jacob is here, with _me_. He wouldn’t―”

“Takashi is my first son,” came the quiet voice of Shiro’s stepfather. “That will never change, Queen Mother. I love him more than life. I would not have my first child disinherited in favor of my second, ever.”

“It is for _Takashi’s_ good that you must do this,” persisted his mother-in-law. “It won’t be easy for him to govern the more traditional factions with his background. And you know our coronation customs―how they’ll look to the humans, if you choose Takashi to succeed you.”

“Like I demoted Keith because he looks human and chose a full-blooded Galran heir instead,” Krolia muttered. “I know. I’ve thought about it, but I―”

“You have to think of both your children, loveling,” the Queen sighed. “There are hundreds of positions you can give Takashi, but for Keith...there’s only one.”

Shiro crept away from the door after that and ran back into the nursery, unwilling to hear any more. His parents would fight for him, he knew, and he _did_ like the idea of sitting on his grandfather’s throne someday―but not if his baby brother would think his human blood made him _less_ , or somehow unfit for the crown. Keith was so tiny and delicate, with big violet eyes and small clinging hands, and Shiro got to hold him right after his mother when he was born because Father had said the baby was a late birthday present, for _him._  Shiro couldn't even bear to see him crying, let alone―

“I’m going to tell Mama no, if she says I have to be king,” he whispered, leaning over his brother’s little cradle. “I know I’m going to grow up big and strong, but everyone says you’ll be always small like Dad is. I guess you’ll just have to show them you can be the smallest king and still be the best, right? You’re my little brother, so you’re already the best. We just have to show everyone else.”

Keith sneezed at him. Shiro burst into giggles, poking at the baby’s tiny pink toes to make him laugh as he thought about what to say next.

“Not everybody can be big and fight good,” he mused, watching Keith’s round eyes blinking up at him in confusion. “And if you stay little, maybe you won’t ever be a good fighter. I’m not, ‘cause I’m still small too. But a king needs someone to protect him, right? Mama says my father was the best soldier _ever_ , so I can take care of you. He died protecting Daibazaal before I was even born, and I’m brave just like him! You’ll be fine, Keith. Don’t worry.”

The baby cooed at that, closing his little fist around Shiro’s finger and sending him into a fit of pure delight. _I know_ , the gesture seemed to say. _I know you’ll keep me safe._

“Then you’re already the _smartest_ king,” Shiro told him. “We’ll show the whole planet, just wait and see. We will!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr at @datboicomehere!! :3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith finds out about his betrothal.

_“Pince Siro,” babbled Keith. “Pince, pince, pince―”_

_“What in Heaven’s name did you do to him, Takashi?” laughed their mother, bouncing the toddler in her lap. “He’s been talking about pinching you all day.”_

_“You can pinch me if you like,” Shiro offered, holding out his arm to Keith. His brother took it and gave it a tiny kiss, pressing his little lips to the back of Shiro’s hand before pulling them away._

_“Kiss,” he announced. “Kiss for Pince Siro. Not pinces.”_

_“Oh, you two,” chuckled Jacob, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor to polish Shiro’s toy sword. “He’s trying to say Prince. It’s not your fault you can’t say your r’s yet, Keithling. Daddy understands you just fine.”_

_“But I’m not a prince.”_

_“Mm, not in name. But Keith certainly thinks you are.”_

_“Pince Siro!” Keith yelled, trying to stand up on Krolia’s knees. “Baby ‘night.”_

_“You want to be your brother’s knight, do you?” cooed Krolia, covering the baby’s face with kisses. “And protect him in battle like the brave little il’yashe you are?”_

_“Baby ‘night!”_

_“No, no,” scolded Shiro, stopping Keith in his tracks. “You aren’t going to fight anyone, Baby. Ever. You’re going to be the prince, and I’m going to take care of you.”_

_“No, Baby ‘night.”_

_“No,_ Shiro _knight.”_

_“Baby knight.”_

_“Baby_ prince. _”_

_“Siro pince.”_

_“He’s a persistent one, isn’t he?” giggled Ezor, one of the record-keeper’s daughters. The young girl was a few winters older than Shiro, around fifteen to his almost ten and a half, and spent more of her time with Jacob and Krolia than with her own mother and father. “Wonder who he takes after.”_

_“Not me,” Jacob cried. “I was an angel growing up. I’ve got the photos to prove it.”_

_“Baby like Mama,” said Keith solemnly, patting the violet birthmark on his face and licking the two dark purple ones slanting down Krolia’s cheeks. “Baby pu’ple, Mama pu’ple.”_

_“I’ve been killed by cuteness,” muttered Ezor’s friend Acxa, rolling out of the closet and startling Keith into silence. “How long was I in there? What day is it?” Ezor waved at her. “Who are you?”_

_“I don’t know. Who are you?” rejoined Shiro, holding out his arms so Acxa could swing him up to her shoulders. “And what were you doing in there anyway?”_

_“Asha,” Keith declared, squinting at her with adorable slant-eyed suspicion. “Asha’s the cosset monser. Baby knew all ‘long.”_

_“The...what?”_

_“Closet monster,” said Jacob absently, putting aside Shiro’s toy sword and getting to work on the patches of his old red snow boots. “Takashi, are you sure you don’t want to get new ones? I don’t know if these will hold against the water, son.”_

_“I guess I could,” mourned Shiro, drooping against Acxa’s neck. “Are you sure you can’t fix them, Dad?”_

_“I’ll try as hard as I can,” promised his father. “I’ve still got a piece of Auccux leather saved up, so we can use that.”_

_“You can have my old boots, if he can’t,” sang Ezor. “They don’t fit now, and you’ve got big feet so they should work just fine.”_

_“Keith boots,” insisted the baby, holding up his bare pink feet. “Pease?”_

_“Oh, you’re the most precious little il’yashe ever,” cried Shiro, wriggling out of Acxa’s arms and pulling Keith into his own.  His brother nestled close to his chest and closed his eyes, burying his fingers in Shiro’s short dark fur until―_

_“Siro?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Tight.”_

_“Oh! Is this better?”_

_“Mmm...”_

_*_ _*_ _*_

Twenty years had come and gone since his brother’s birth, and Shiro had almost forgotten what it was like to live without him. Keith had been an adorable child growing up, pale and tender-skinned like their father and impulsive like their mother the Queen, and to Shiro his happiness was wholly worth everything that giving up his inheritance had cost―his name, his crown, the hope that the secret of his birth might not have to be kept, some day. But through his diligence on the training field he had carved out a place of his own in the army like his dead blood-father before him, and by the time he turned twenty-five he commanded a greater battalion than he would have as prince of the quarter.

His duties often kept him away from the houses of meeting, so Shiro paid little attention to matters of trade and policy; he spent his days managing the duties of the four thousand soldiers who reported directly to him, and rarely heard about changes in commerce or foreign relations unless someone came to tell him about them personally.

This, however, was a much larger change than usual.

“You’ve _what?_ ” he spluttered, coughing a mouthful of tea all over his plate of toast and sliced sausages. “Keith? _A betrothal?_ To whom?”

Beside him, Keith froze solid to his chair, seemingly too horrified even to shout. His knife and fork slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor, ringing against the stone tiles like a pair of startled bells.

_“What?”_

“You remember we mined a surplus of _jashik_ this spring?”

“You sold me away for _jashik?_ ” gasped Keith, blinking back tears. “ _Mom―_ ”

“We sent out the _jashik_ , idiot boy,” General Kolivan scolded from the other end of the table. “Honestly, Keith―”

“He just found out a wife’s been chosen for him!” protested Shiro. “He’s got a right to be upset! Who is it, Mom? They’ll be coming here, right? Tell me you’re not sending Keith―”

“Of _course_ not,” Krolia sighed, nudging Keith’s arm. “But the planet we settled with exhausted their _jashik_ mines completely, and there isn’t anything we need nearly so badly as they need the fuel. So they offered me one of the heirs to their throne, after they heard that Keith wasn’t married. What was I supposed to do, say no?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Keith wailed. “Just say it was a gift in good faith and leave it at that! Why do I have to be a part of it?”

“That fuel took almost seven months to reach, son,” said the king, looking sympathetic. “Matched drop for drop by the sweat of the Highlanders who mined it. It can’t be given away, Keith, even if we wanted to. Even if most of it would have gone to waste―it doesn’t do to undervalue the toil of your people, ever.”

“What planet was it?” Shiro interrupted, mentally scanning a list of all the star systems in their quadrant. “They’re not from outside the quadrant, right?” As a rule Daibazaal limited trade to the twelve solar systems in its own far-flung corner of the galaxy, but if Keith’s future wife came from outside the borders―

“Altea. Vefaen’s seventh planet. I visited there a few years ago, remember?”

Three star systems away, then.

“Then who’s Keith going to marry?” Shiro asked warily. “And when are we going to meet her?”

The Queen took out her holopad and passed it to Keith, who clutched the sides of the tablet between his hands and glared as if he had never seen anyone so unsightly. Shiro looked over his brother’s shoulder in trepidation, wondering if his new sister-in-law had a cruel face, or perhaps an overly vacant one―

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “A husband, then?”

“Prince Adam, first son of King Alfor and second heir to the throne of Northern Altea,” said Kolivan, spearing another sausage and swallowing half of it whole. “I met him briefly about twenty-two winters ago, before Keith was born.”

Keith parted his lips and shut them again, turning to Shiro with a look of distressed bewilderment. _Twenty-two winters?_ he mouthed. _How old is he, even?_

“He was only a child then, Keith,” sighed the general, who seemed to have read the boy’s mind. “I can hear your thoughts. Silence them, if you would. He is in his prime by the reckoning of his own people, with many more years ahead of him than you have even now, and this picture was taken no more than three cycles ago.”

“I’d forgotten how human Alteans look,” mused Shiro, freshly reminded of his own Earthen heritage (drop in the ocean though it was, compared to Keith’s) by the sight of Prince Adam’s face. His skin was smooth and brown like the coffee their father drank, and his eyes were a clear bright azure bluer than Shiro’s birth star. Beneath them a pair of turquoise birthmarks flickered like sparklers, or fireflies, and across his lips a small sweet smile―tender even in stillness, Shiro thought―seemed to echo the sound of laughter.

“He’s…”

“A sight for sore eyes,” came a high-pitched voice from behind him. “Honestly, Keith. I can’t see why you’re complaining.”

“Ezor,” scolded Kolivan, reaching out behind his head and grasping a handful of what seemed to be thin air. Shiro’s half-Zehmaian fourth-in-command materialized two seconds later, dancing out of Kolivan’s grip and over to Keith to see the picture for herself. “Just because you’re half chameleon _doesn’t_ mean you can―”

“Actually, it does,” she told him, staring down at Prince Adam’s portrait in thinly-veiled delight. “Don’t let this one slip away, midget. It’ll be nice to have someone pretty around the place.”

“You marry him, then.”

“Can’t, pipsqueak. I’m already married.”

“And very happily, too!” shouted a woman from the hall outside. “But damn it, sweetheart. You’ve given us all away.”

“Are all the rest of you out there, then?” laughed Krolia, taking back her holopad from Ezor. “Come in, then. Don’t hang around by the door.”

“We would have,” muttered Ezor’s wife, slipping into the room with two smaller soldiers behind her. “But Ezor decided she wanted forbidden intel and went in camouflaged.”

“But Zethrid, darling, I did want intel. And I got it, too.”

“You got on my nerves, that’s all,” muttered Kolivan. “And it’s not exactly forbidden knowledge that Keith’s engaged to Alfor’s son. The courts had to pass the motion last night.”

“That’s twelve hours earlier someone could have told me about _my_ betrothal,” said Keith, glaring between his parents. “Did it really not occur to either of you, Mom? Or even _Kolivan?_ ”

“You were asleep,” said Jacob shamelessly. “You looked so peaceful lying there, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“Didn’t have the heart to get beaten in a wrestling match, more like.”

“How _dar_ e you insinuate I’d lose!”

“How dare _you_ insinuate you wouldn’t!”

“Settle, boys,” said Krolia placatingly. “Am I to assume you’re all right with this, then?”

“I mean, I guess,” Keith grumbled. “He’s coming here, right? I don’t have to go live on Altea?”

“You’re the only heir, so it would be pretty difficult to send you away,” quipped the second-in-command, Acxa. “I regret to inform you that you’re still stuck with us, Highness. Whatever shall you do?”

“I bet you won’t treat Adam this way when he gets here.”

“Oh, dropping titles already? You must really have liked― _ack!_ ” Ezor swatted Keith with her head-tail, springing out of the path of a salt plum he had catapulted at her with his spoon. “I just washed this gown, shortstack. Lay off.”

“Good,” announced Kolivan, completely ignoring Ezor and Keith starting a plum war in the background. “Because we’ll be leaving for Altea next week.”

Three more plums tumbled to the floor.

 _“What?”_ screeched the prince, making all the full Galra present (or nearly full, in Shiro’s case) clap their hands over their ears. “You mean I have to marry him _now?_ You can’t make me, I―”

“Better get on to the training room, Captain.” Acxa whispered. “This is going to take a while to sort out, and the sixteenth regiment’s there waiting.”

“Your mother will handle Keith,” Kolivan assured him. “Go on, Shiro. I’ll join you later.”

“Well, all right,” said Shiro dubiously. “But I think I could calm him down a lot better than Mom could.”

 _He doesn’t need calming down,_ signed Narti. _He needs to get it out of his system. Better now, than with that poor Altean boy next movement. Or even after the wedding, Heaven forbid._

Shiro put his head in his hands and got up, wincing as Keith’s white irises turned yellow like curdled milk.

“Okay, okay,” he sighed, pulling Zethrid out of his brother’s line of fire. “I’m going. Try not to let him blow up the castle while I’m gone.”

“And miss out on the drama?” Zethrid snorted. “ _Please._ ”

 _I hope Prince Adam's got more of a backbone than I do_ , prayed Shiro, waving goodbye to his father before running out into the hallway and down to the training level. _Keith's tempers are nothing to sneeze at, and Prince Adam looks like he doesn't know what a temper is._

A crash echoed from the dining room behind him, followed by the sound of Kolivan roaring himself hoarse.

"Well," Shiro muttered, crossing his fingers. "He's definitely going to find out."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Prince Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who's left kudos and feedback so far! This chapter would never have been written without you. <3

She often thought that a meeting like theirs should have happened during a storm, under skies clouded over and belching forth lightning like dragons out loose on a hunt. For Bandor was almost a dragon himself, young and fierce and guarding a treasure far beyond price, and when he fell across her doorstep one bright afternoon he changed her fate completely.

“Please,” he rasped, clutching at the hem of her tunic like a man seeking absolution. “I heard. You wanted people like me, didn’t you? I’ll do anything you say, anything―”

“You _fool,_ ” Somehow she had already lifted him into her arms and carried him into her workroom without even asking for his name, thanking her stars that no one had seen him arrive. “Coming here in broad daylight, without even hiding your face―you’re lucky no one saw you, or you’d have been hunted all through the city.”

“Too late for that,” the young man groaned, wincing as Honerva tore off his shirt and recoiled at the sight of his chest. “They told me you were a―don’t, that one’s broken―they told me to keep away from you. That you’d kill me. But I had to try.”

“Why did you?” she muttered. “They’re right, you know. I don’t know if my research could cure you, or if that old experiment would leave you alive even if it worked.”

She paused.

“But you can’t stay here. I’ll send for one of Alfor’s healers, have her get a look at you, and then―”

“I told you, it’s too late.” He was weeping now, shaking like a child as Honerva looked around for a slat to set his broken arm. “When I heard about you, I knew what would happen if your work couldn’t heal me. I knew it would either heal me or kill me, and I didn’t―I _don’t_ want to, I have a sister, a family―”

“Understandable.”

Honerva had never been good at sympathy. It was utterly useless to a mind like hers, one that hungered for knowledge and nothing more, or so her tutors at the academy had said...and yet, her heart seemed to stir a little as the boy turned his face away.

“What happened?”

“I went to Alfor,” he sobbed. “I went up to the palace for an audience, and I told him what I was and begged him to cure me. The second he saw my face, he―” He choked on a sob and writhed into the back of the sofa, wailing at the top of his lungs as Honerva came back with a sturdy piece of lath. “He―he _did_ something, and when I woke up I was lying on the steps outside with the gates locked and bolted in front of me.”

“What do you think I can do for you?” Honerva said wryly, slathering his forearm with a numbing gel before setting it with the makeshift brace. “Alfor sent me away after that debacle with the rift creatures last year. I still have his ear, to a certain extent, but I don’t have the means to replicate my old work. My laboratory was royal property. As far as I know, my dear second cousin took charge of it himself long ago.”

“And yet you’re still looking for _al’tadmirs_ like me.”

“Alchemist’s weakness, I suppose.”

“Let me stay, then. Please.”

Her classmates had called her hard-hearted, once upon a time. Hard-hearted Honerva with the head of a shrew and the face of a fallen queen, and here she was crumbling in the face of a boy of sixty cast aside by the very ground he walked upon.

“All right.”

*    *    *

His name was Bandor, a goldsmith’s son afflicted from birth by the sickness sapping his life, and when he could hide it no longer he left his family behind and traveled the Northlands in search of a cure. Sometimes people saw him and knew at once what ailed him, and those towns drove him away with whatever weapons they had; sometimes his condition improved enough for him to spend a year or two living alone in peace, until the long furrows crept down his face and consumed every inch of surplus flesh on his body as they always did in the end.

He would leave then, of his own accord, vanishing softly into the night with nothing but a letter apiece to the handful of friends he had made to show he had been there at all.

“It must have been lonely,” Honerva observed one night, eight months after she played up the remorseful cousin act well enough to be allowed back into her chambers in the royal alchemy wing. Bandor and a sympathetic healer lived there with her in utmost secrecy, never leaving the six airy rooms without disguising themselves so completely that even she couldn’t recognize them. “Living like that, all those years.”

“It was as near to freedom as I’ve ever had,” shrugged Bandor, pouring himself another cup of tea. “Until you and Aïre took me in, that is.”

“Take you in,” muttered the healer. “With Honerva paying me as if gold meant nothing more to her than water? It’s the two of you who are keeping me, I’ll have you know.”

“But are you happy, Bandor?” Honerva sent a swift sharp glance at Aïre, one that meant _well done, but not particularly subtle. Do better next time._

 _Agreed,_ Aïre conceded, answering her with a nod. _But you raked it up. Give it another year before you mention such things so easily._

Somehow, Bandor had managed to miss the silent conversation taking place just in front of him. But he was smiling, to Aïre’s relief and Honerva’s unmixed delight, and though the alchemist had never thought the word _mother_ would apply to her someday―

“I’ve never been happier,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Never.”

*    *    *

“Look at him,” she whispered to Aïre one morning, six years after Bandor first went into hiding in her quarters. “Aïre, he’s _beautiful_.”

“Do you think you’ll ever change his mind?”

She thought of the cold machines in the adjoining chamber and shut her eyes, opening them again just in time to see Bandor’s face light up with a grin. He was sitting on the windowsill with his jeweler’s toolkit, crafting something small and delicate that shone by the lamplight like glass, and at the sight of him Honerva felt her own lips turn up in a smile.

“I have to, someday. Somehow.”

*    *    *

“You can’t deny me this.”

“Bandor, _amyie,_ it would kill you. The more we study it the more I...I can’t lose you, sweetheart. You have a home here, a life―”

“I still can’t even leave your quarters without hiding my face,” he pleaded. “Or go a full year without almost choking in my sleep and having Aïre bring me back at the last second, I―please, I can’t go through that again. You―you told me you loved me like a son, didn’t you? You know how much it―I’d rather _die_ than―”

Honerva gritted her teeth and remembered those long nights across from Aïre next to Bandor’s bed, counting down the seconds as he soaked the front of her gown with blood and fought for breath in her arms, screaming _Aïre, Aïre please_ , and her own voice weeping as she said _not yet, just a little longer―_

“One more month,” she begged him, clinging desperately to hope as Bandor threw his arms around her waist. “Give me time. I must be sure about the healing pod before we try.”

“And then we’ll be happy,” Bandor murmured, shedding a few hot tears against her gown as the healer looked in from the next room to see what the matter was. “You promise, right?”

“I promise, my heart. I promise.”

*    *    *

She had never understood Bandor’s desperation. Not even now with his body at her feet and Aïre lying dead against her, not even now that she was clutching the corpse of her closest friend and staring up into her cousin’s eyes, half-dazed and dimly aware that half the royal guard was standing just outside the door.

“You betrayed me,” he screamed, throwing out a hand to hold Melenor back as she shouldered her way past the captain of the guard. Honerva was thankful the Queen had been spared the sight, at least; shocks could be deadly for women in her condition, and with the long-awaited second heir to the throne due only the next fortnight―

“You betrayed him,” Honerva whispered, touching her neck and forearms as the layer of fat just beneath her skin began to shrink and shrivel away, just as she had seen with Bandor more often than she could remember. Somehow the knowledge that she had been doomed to share his fate did not trouble her; he had been the light of her days, and the moment he went her heart had departed with him.

“I’ve never seen this man before in my―”

“My lord.”

The captain of the guard turned Bandor over with the butt of his spear, taking three steps back as he gestured to the boy’s skeletal face. Alfor choked on his tongue and followed, pushing his wife closer to the door as Honerva let go of Aïre and struggled up to her feet.

“Do not move,” said her cousin dangerously. “I ought to have known you were fit for no better―one who sought knowledge of such things could never be sated with _theory_ , and bringing an _al’tadmir_ under my roof, near my _wife―_ ”

“He’s been living under your nose these past ten years,” shrieked the alchemist, laughing at the top of her voice as Melenor went three shades paler. She was thinking of the young crown princess, Honerva knew, a bright little girl with her father’s blue eyes and the queen’s unruly white hair. “And in all that time not a soul has been harmed. There would have been no need for this, if you had not turned him away!”

“Honerva, first daughter of house Hondras.” The captain was starting towards her, reaching out as she scrambled away from Bandor’s fallen body. “By my lordship’s law I charge you with―”

“High treason,” spat Alfor. “For criminal recklessness and two young Alteans murdered, your _friends_ , and for nothing save your own greed! The sentence for that is―”

“Banishment,” Honerva garbled, laughter still pouring past her teeth like water over jagged rocks in a stream. “Banish me then, if you will. I shall not remain one moment longer on this―this _jyshak_ of a planet you claim to love so dearly!”

She raised her hand and smirked in dull satisfaction as even the captain shrank back, gathering Aïre and Bandor close to her breast and pulling a shard of Balmeran crystal out of the bosom of her coat. The guards’ eyes widened as they caught sight of it, but it was too late―the words were already spoken, and as the laboratory dissolved around her she screamed with all her might at her cousin still standing half-frozen near the threshold with his hand on Melenor’s arm.

“May you feel every moment of pain he felt!” she cried, cheeks growing wet with tears as Bandor’s wrist began to stiffen against her own. “May a gourd of your own blood be spilled for every drop he shed, Alfor! He came to you dying, begging to be healed, and you sent him away to his death―and here you stand before me, calling yourself his _king!_ ”

Perhaps he heard her; perhaps he did not. Only two words were echoing in the empty hell of her thoughts, only two words beyond the numbing white fury in every cell of her body: _Aïre, Bandor―Aïre, Bandor, Aïre, Bandor―_

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, clutching them closer still as the shadows took her over. “Forgive me, dearheart. Forgive me.”

*    *    *

_A man never knows when his life will change. After all, paths that have…_

“...for many years run straight may suddenly turn crooked,” murmured a soft voice to Adam’s left, followed by the rustle of his sister’s smooth hands turning the pages of her prayer-book. “And valleys long shrouded in darkness may yet learn the touch of sunlight. Joy comes hither unlooked-for just as often as grief, and the man who can mold himself for either is fit for whatever meets him. As it was spoken by the Ancients, _jenessaya._ Let us begin.”

The hush hanging over the dining room faded away as five pairs of dark hands unfolded themselves and picked up their forks and knives, beginning the morning meal with a strange sour feeling of tension. At Adam’s right his younger brother Lance was swinging his feet under the table, having shifted his legs almost six inches shorter to manage it, and across from him his father had tried to cut his griddlecakes three or four times before succeeding. Adam gritted his teeth and swallowed a blistering mouthful of rukseed tea, trying to go on with his breakfast as usual until his mother dropped her spoon and knocked over Allura’s glass of water.

“When is the Galran head of council calling, Alfor?” she said, wringing her hands in despair. “I’m going to go and wait with Coran until then _._ ”

“Lord Antok summoned the queen’s council and the commerce cabinet just after he and I spoke at midnight,” sighed Adam’s father. “They ought to have finished within the next hour or so, and he will inform us of their decision then.”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?” Lance wondered. “I mean, they’re blood purists, aren’t they? Zarkon’s empire marginalized half-bloods until he married Honerva, and―”

Both Adam and Allura winced at the mention of the name, and Alfor waved a dismissive hand at them. “The prejudice is nearly absent in the Highlands, son. There are a number of alien folk living there, and the Queen herself wed one of her Earthling ambassadors some twenty-six cycles ago. The Highland states mined the excess _jashik,_ so I offered your brother’s hand in marriage to them.”

“An Earthling ambassador?” frowned the princess. “ Is it their son Adam’s supposed to be marrying?”

“Yes, it is. He looks almost Altean, loveling―I couldn’t tell the difference until I saw his ears. He’s the spitting image of his father, almost as pale as Coran.”

“What’s his name?” Adam asked, clearing his throat. “The prince’s, I mean, not his father’s.”

“Keith, after the way of the king’s people. He was called Yorak during his naming ceremonies, but from the records of his quarter’s last tourney it seems he doesn’t use that name at all.”

“And he spars?”

“Magnificently, according to Coran. He’s nowhere near as adept as the Eastland military, but he does very well for one of his size and stature.”

“You mean for someone _tiny_ ,” Lance sniggered, nudging Adam under the table. “Right, Dad?”

“If three inches higher than you is tiny, then perhaps that is what I meant,” said Melenor dryly. “Enough with your tomfoolery, Lance. Go on to your lessons if you’ve had enough to eat.”

“But _Moth―_ ”

“Go, Lance.”

Grumbling, he did as she said, leaving his siblings and parents behind to stare frozenly at one another and pretend not to stare at the clock every five seconds or so. At long last, after Adam had swallowed his last mouthful of tea and reduced his breakfast to crumbs, he heard a soft tapping at the door and swung around to stare at it with his heart beating a death-march in his chest.

“Lord Antok will be beginning the discussion of terms within the next fifteen minutes,” said their father’s red-haired advisor, opening the door just far enough to admit his head and shoulders. “Get ready, all of you.”

“This isn’t going to happen. I won’t stand for it,” Allura blurted, shaking her head wildly until her long plait of hair hit Adam full in the face. “This―it’s gone too far, we can’t―”

Adam shook his head and got to his feet, squaring his shoulders as he stared into the mirror hanging over the serving-table. There would be but one chance, he knew―one chance and one chance _only,_ and if this one passed him by―

“I’m ready.”

It was only a short walk to the remote conference chambers, since he had no need to stop on the way; he had worn his best robes to breakfast and managed to keep them tidy even with Lance flailing around next to him, and so when Adam opened the doors and walked in just ahead of his father he looked every inch the Northland lord that he was.

“Don’t sit there,” murmured the king, motioning him away from his usual seat next to his mother. “Sit in your _amai’s_ place today.”

“They mean to ask me about the terms directly, then,” Adam realized, falling into the indicated chair as his legs went out from under him. “Why?”

“You came of age thirty years ago, and you’re heir beside Allura. It only makes sense.”

“None of the rest of the council’s here,” whispered his sister, sitting down on Adam’s other side. “Does that mean they’ve already―”

“Passed the motion and signed it.”

Adam’s blood ran cold. “Then―”

“It’s going to be just fine, lad,” Coran soothed. “You know it is.”

“There it is,” whispered Melenor, gripping her husband’s wrist as the screen at the front of the room lit up with the coordinates of an incoming call. “They’re―”

“Coran, if you would?”

The advisor tapped a button on his communicator and opened the video connection, which fizzled to life on a council room vastly different from the one they were sitting in. It was darker, lit with purple-tinted lamps and full to the wings while their own was nearly empty; the Galra sitting closest to the screen was taller than the rest and masked, not quite covering the beginnings of a scar visible on his chin.

“Lord Antok,” said Adam, inclining his head respectfully before turning to the soldier at Antok’s left. “Lord Kolivan. It is good to see the both of you again.”

“And you, Second Highness,” Antok rumbled, addressing the prince with his official title. “We have put our terms before Queen Krolia, and though she finds them suitable enough it would be a disservice to both our peoples if your opinions were not given due consideration. Do I have your word that you will speak if one of the terms crosses you or your kin?”

“Aye, you do.”

“Then your Majesty, if you would―may we put them before your son?”

Alfor nodded and brushed his son’s trembling hand, calming him down just enough as Lord Kolivan brought out his holopad.

“The first of our conditions is this,” he said slowly, “though I do not doubt you have already guessed it―that after your marriage you will dwell in Highland Daibazaal as Prince Keith’s consort, and one day rule beside him as the Highlands’ second king. Is this acceptable?”

“It is, Lord Kolivan. And the second?”

“That in case of any conflict, you will take up arms with the Highland Galra, or not enter the fray at all.”

“I insist that the choice always be left to me to abstain from combat, save in the case of defending the Highlands directly,” said Adam steadily. “Can my people rest assured that I will never be made to turn against them?”

Kolivan’s eyes lit up with admiration. “They can, Second Highness. Do you accept the clause, then?”

“I do.”

“Thirdly, that your first royal allegiance after the marriage will fall to the her Majesty the Queen, Krolia daughter of Khirbos.”

Adam nodded; this was a rite clause, one so heavily implied that it was often omitted from the formal contracts when royalty from one kingdom married into another. “She will have my service and loyalty both in body and soul, my Lord.”

“Fourth―” and here Lord Kolivan hesitated, turning his datapad off and setting it down in front of him. “Fourthly, the courts have requested an heir by the end of the fifth Galran cycle after you make your home here permanently.”

Allura’s face went pale.

“Of course,” the Galra continued, wincing at the utter shock in the princess’s eyes. “You need not answer this now, only decide whether y―”

“I accept.”

“Second Highness, with all due respect―”

“I accept, Lord Kolivan. Forgive me if it is...well, _indelicate_ to say so, but I know well enough that our species are compatible. There is Emperor Lotor of the Eastlands after all, son to my distant aunt Empress Honerva and the late Emperor Zarkon.” Adam steepled his fingers under his chin, steadily ignoring his sister turning redder than a myranberry to his right. “And I am in good health, furthermore, so five Galran cycles seems ample time for it. However, if I should for some reason be taken ill on Daibazaal, I will not be held to the clause. Is that clear?”

“Very well.” Kolivan coughed. “If you have no objections, that is.”

“Is there a fifth term to the contract?”

“There is,” Antok cut in. “An heir within five years, and within twenty-five a child with near-Altean longevity.”

“Adam―”

“I give my assent freely,” he said, stepping lightly on Allura’s foot. “Is that all?”

“It is, Second Highness,” replied Kolivan, sending the contract to the screen on the table in front of Adam. “Your Majesty King Alfor, Queen Melenor―are the terms acceptable to you, as well as to your son?”

“They are,” Melenor answered, speaking both for herself and Adam’s father. “Have my son’s concessions been made to the contract already?”

“They have, your Majesty.”

Adam looked down at the contract and found that it was true; his edits to the fourth and second terms were marked beneath the originals in red, and all that was left for him now was to sign his name with his parents’ at the bottom of the list. The Galra prince would be presented with a list of terms of his own within the next week, most likely, so…

He had expected it to feel like signing away his life, but somehow when he stamped his crest onto the screen beside his name and passed the tablet to his parents he felt as if a weight had fallen from his shoulders and ended all the burdens he had carried from the day of his birth.

“It is done,” announced his father, looking back at the Galra council with his marks glowing almost white. “We shall have our own contract ready for Prince Keith by the morning after tomorrow.”

The call ended a few minutes later, with a handful of salutations and a brief murmur of the Highland motto on the other end― _knowledge or death_ of all things _,_ which Adam considered excessively morbid―and then the strength went out of him with a vengeance, deserting the prince completely as he fell back in his chair and burst into wrenching sobs.

“It’s all right,” he heard his mother say, settling her hands on his shoulders and crying into his hair. “It’s all right, loveling, you’re going to be just fine―”

“I know,” he wept, resting his head against hers and reaching for his father and sister. “I know, _amai._ I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr or twitter at @datboicomehere!


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